Page 24 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

LIAM

S omething’s been off with Annika all day.

I don’t know what it is, and she’s sure as hell not saying. She’s been quieter than usual, her smiles just a little too forced, her touches softer but more distracted. Like her body’s here, but her mind’s caught somewhere else.

And it’s driving me crazy.

I’ve been pacing the loft, half out of my mind with restless energy, because I can’t stop thinking about the Russians.

The shooting. Burns. Every time I close my eyes, I see blood on a tuxedo and the smug, phantom grin of Dariy Volkov.

If I let myself sit still too long, the rage starts creeping in again—hot and sharp, telling me I need to do something.

Fight someone. Burn it all down if I have to.

But then I hear her soft footsteps behind me.

I turn, ready to press her again—ask what’s wrong, why she won’t talk to me, if someone said something, if she’s scared—but she doesn’t give me the chance.

Her fingers slip into my hair and she pulls me into a kiss that stops the whole damn world.

It’s deep, searching—like she needs to lose herself in this, in me. And maybe I need it too. Maybe we both just need the noise to stop for a while.

So I kiss her back. Harder. Deeper.

If she doesn’t want to talk, fine.

I’ll show her what I can’t say out loud anyway.

Her mouth is hot on mine, and the way she kisses me—it’s not sweet. It’s not soft. It’s urgent. Like she’ll shatter if I don’t hold her together.

I grab her hips and slam her back against the counter, swallowing the gasp she lets out.

She clutches at my shirt, yanking it up over my head, her nails raking down my chest like she wants to leave marks.

Good. I want her to. I want proof that this is real, that we’re still standing, still breathing, still fighting.

I press my forehead to hers, our breaths tangling.

“You sure?” I manage to grit out.

She nods, eyes blazing. “Don’t make me beg.”

That’s all I need.

I lift her onto the counter in one swift motion, knocking over a glass, not caring when it shatters on the floor.

Her legs wrap around me, pulling me in like she’ll die if we’re not touching.

My hands are everywhere—her waist, her thighs, tangled in her hair as I kiss her like it’s the only language we speak.

She claws at my belt, frantic, like she needs my cock inside her now, and I don't make her wait. We’re tearing at each other, desperate and wild, our bodies crashing together like waves against jagged rocks.

She moans my name—no pretense, no holding back—and it wrecks me.

There’s no rhythm at first, just raw need. I grip her thighs hard enough to bruise, and she bites my shoulder to muffle the sounds she’s making. We’re both panting, sweating, moving like we’ll tear each other apart and still want more.

Every thrust I make inside her is a promise. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go .

She tightens around me, whimpers breaking into broken cries, and I feel her shatter. Her whole body tenses, then trembles, and I follow with a groan, burying my face in her neck as the world goes white.

For a long moment, the only sounds are our harsh breaths and the faint creak of the counter under us.

I hold her close, tighter than I should. Because the second I let go, the world comes rushing back in—and neither of us is ready for that yet.

She’s still trembling when I carry her upstairs.

I don’t give her a chance to catch her breath. I need her. More than I need air. More than I need answers. She's clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded, and maybe I am—maybe we’re both just floating in the wreckage, holding each other down so we don’t drift too far.

I lay her down on the bed and she yanks me down on top of her, her legs wrapping around my waist again like she refuses to let go. There’s fire in her eyes now. A dare. A challenge.

“I’m not done,” she whispers, breathless. “Are you?”

I growl low in my throat, flipping her onto her stomach in one fluid motion. She gasps—surprised, not scared—and I lean in close, my voice rough against her ear. “Not even close.”

I drag my hands down her back, feeling her shiver under me as I kiss the curve of her spine. Then I pull her hips up and press my body flush against hers, teasing her with the slow, heavy roll of my hips. She whines, trying to push back, but I pin her in place, my hand on her lower back.

“Patience,” I mutter, even though I’ve got none left myself.

Her pussy’s dripping slick, ready for me all over again, and I slide my cock into her with one smooth thrust that punches the breath from both of us.

She arches beneath me, clawing at the sheets, and I grip her hips tight, holding her still as I set a punishing pace.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room—raw, rhythmic, relentless—and I can’t get close enough.

I slide a hand under her body, fingers finding that sweet spot, working in tandem with every rough thrust. She’s gasping, keening, shaking all over.

And when she comes this time, her arms give out and she drops to the mattress, and I follow her down, still inside her, still moving. I’m chasing this high until the end.

We ride it out together, slow and aching, until I can’t take any more and bury my cock deep inside her, moaning her name like a swear.

I don’t pull away. I can’t.

I just hold her there—our hearts pounding in sync, the storm outside finally quiet.

We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and sweat, the sheets twisted beneath us. For a few seconds, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing and the thudding of my heart, still hammering like a war drum in my chest.

She turns to face me, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face, and when our eyes meet—something snaps.

It’s not what she says. It’s how she looks at me.

Soft. Trusting. Like she belongs to me completely.

And fuck if that doesn’t light a fire deep in my gut.

Because the truth is, I don’t want softness right now.

I want proof.

Of all the things I can’t control—the Russians, the politics, the lies—I can control this. I can have this. Her. My girl. My enemy’s daughter. My everything.

Mine.

I’m on her before she can blink, pinning her wrists above her head, pressing her back into the mattress.

Her breath catches, pupils blown wide, but she doesn’t look afraid. She looks ready.

“You keep looking at me like that,” I growl, “and I’m going to lose whatever’s left of my goddamn restraint.”

“Then lose it,” she whispers. “Show me.”

That’s all the invitation I need.

I kiss her hard—biting, claiming—and trail my mouth down her neck, nipping until she gasps, until I find the place just below her collarbone and bite. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark. A bruise. A claim.

She moans, arching into me, and I can’t stop.

I suck and bite my way down her body, painting her skin with proof of me. Her thighs, her hips, her breasts—no one will look at her without knowing.

“You’re mine,” I rasp, biting the inside of her thigh before flipping her again, hands gripping her hips so tight she’ll feel it tomorrow. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasps. “I’ve always been yours.”

I groan, low and wrecked, and slide into her again, slower this time—but rougher. Deeper. My hand curls around her throat—not squeezing, just holding—while my other hand marks her ass with a sharp smack, the sound echoing in the room.

Every thrust is a vow. Every bruise a warning.

No one touches her.

No one takes her.

Not without going through me.

I’ll burn the whole fucking world down first.

We collapse again, breathless, tangled in sweat-damp sheets and each other.

My heart’s still pounding like I just ran through fire, and my hands are shaking a little—from the adrenaline, from the intensity, from everything I just let go of.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, burying my face in her neck, trying to catch my breath. My voice comes out rough, almost ashamed.

“Shit, Ana… I’m sorry.”

She blinks up at me, dazed and glowing, a light sheen of sweat on her flushed skin. “Sorry for what?”

“For that,” I murmur. “For getting so—fuck, I don’t know. Rough. Possessive. That wasn’t exactly gentle, sweetheart.”

I brush my fingers along her wrist, where I held her down. I kissed her everywhere I could, left marks that won’t fade for days. I’d meant to love her—but I’d claimed her.

But she just gives me that soft, breathy laugh—the one that always melts straight into my bones—and reaches up to touch my cheek.

“Liam.” Her voice is warm. Steady. Sure. “I loved it.”

I blink, thrown off. “You did?”

She leans in, lips brushing mine. “Seeing that side of you? That wild, unhinged, protective side? God, it was sexy. It did things to me.”

I search her face, trying to find any flicker of uncertainty, any doubt. But there’s none. Just fire and affection and this quiet, grounding honesty that wrecks me more than anything else ever could.

“You could’ve stopped me,” I murmur.

She nods. “I know. And if I wanted to, I would’ve.” Her hand slides over my chest, resting right above my heart. “But I didn’t. I wanted everything you gave me. Every kiss, every mark, every rough edge. I wanted to feel it. You.”

I exhale hard, dragging her closer like I still can’t believe she’s real. That she wants me like this—sharp edges and all.

“I just—fuck, Ana. There’s so much I can’t control right now. Everything’s spinning and the Russians are closing in and I’m afraid I’m going to lose you or Lily or all of it, and I?—”

She cuts me off with a kiss, soft this time. Sweet.

“You won’t lose me,” she whispers against my lips. “I’m still right here. I’m yours, Liam.”

And just like that, the world stops spinning.

She snuggles into my chest, her breath soft and even, her fingers curling lightly against my ribs. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her body worn out, her heart cracked open and vulnerable in my arms.

I wish I could follow her into sleep.

But my mind won’t stop spinning.

The room is quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the city beyond the window. Everything should feel peaceful. And yet, I lie there wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, thoughts buzzing like a live wire in my head.

Can we really make this work?

I want to believe it. God, I need to believe it. The way she looked at me tonight, the way she let me have every piece of her—how could I not think we have a chance?

But then that cold little voice creeps in, the one that’s always been there, whispering the truths I try to ignore.

To keep her safe… I’m going to have to destroy her family.

Not just fight them. Not just stand my ground. Destroy them.

And even if she understands why I had to do it—even if—she may never forgive me.

I stare down at her sleeping face, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with the backs of my fingers. She sighs in her sleep and burrows closer, like she knows I’m slipping into my head and she wants to pull me back.

I hold her tighter.

But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m holding onto something that’s already starting to slip through my fingers.